


a gift of some sorts

by honeymoonmuke



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (they have feelings for each other though), Alpha Derek, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Fuck Or Die, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Pollen, Stiles is Legal, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11579970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeymoonmuke/pseuds/honeymoonmuke
Summary: A mysterious gift addressed to Alpha Derek Hale lands Stiles in a rather heated predicament.





	a gift of some sorts

When Stiles got the texts, something in his posture shifted. He wasn’t sure what it was that drew Scott’s attention - maybe it was the tightness that filled his shoulders, or the way his teeth curled against his bottom lip - but his friend nudged his arm, shooting him a concerned look.

“You okay, bro?” Scott’s focus drifted to the phone held between Stiles’ hands, craning his neck curiously. 

Noticing prying eyes, Stiles cleared his throat. 

“I- uh, yeah. I need to go.” He got up and slid his phone into the pocket of his trousers. “Dad wants me.” If Scott detected the slight blip in his heart rate, the werewolf didn’t let on. Instead, he let out an acknowledging grunt. 

Stiles grabbed a jacket before leaving his house, confident his friend would lock up when he took it upon himself to leave. The two of them were spending some time together to ‘chill’; recently - with the addition of Kira, college finals and a monster lurking around every corner - they’d found it difficult to find the time to just...hang out. It’d been nice,  _ so _ nice that a small part of Stiles ached to go back and continue the meaningless xBox game, but he just couldn’t ignore the messages.

“What the fuck does that even mean,” Stiles muttered, fiddling with his car keys. Impatient, he swung himself inside Roscoe the second he’d unlocked the Jeep. “Since when does Derek have my number - no! Since when does Derek have _manners_?!” 

If anyone had been in the vehicle with him, Stiles was sure they’d be giving him some sort of  _ look _ . 

The journey to Derek’s - although lengthy - was a path well-worn by Stiles. It felt like second nature to drive along those roads, giving his brain enough free space to process the words of the text.

**Come over. I need your help.**

And then the second one that’d popped onto his screen a second after the first.

**Please.**

Blunt, abrupt and dismissive; everything about those texts screamed  _ Derek!!  _ on a level he’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to experience. 

Regardless of the fact that he’d been talking with the older man - in person - on a semi-often basis, he hadn’t realised they’d migrated to the  _ texting level.  _ Sure, he’d passed his number onto Derek a few months back, but he’d never expected him to use it.

“I need your help,” the words rolled off his tongue. Smirking, Stiles dropped his voice an octave and repeated the words in an imitating fashion, “I  _ need  _ your help.” He laughed, aware that a small section of his sanity must be slipping away. If nothing else came from the day, he’d learnt that Derek was fun to emulate.

As he continued to replay the messages, both echoed inside his head and voiced out loud, a nervous feeling spreading through his chest. All lightheartedness aside, he knew it couldn’t be anything good. At the ripe old age of twenty-one, Stiles had enough experience with the world (and a certain werewolf pack) to know that any plea for help could only end in chaos. 

Sooner than expected, Stiles pulled up beside Derek’s Camaro and winced as Roscoe spluttered to an unsteady stop. After yanking the keys from the ignition, he grabbed his jacket and stalked up the driveway to the Hale house.

Worn-out shoes treaded along the loose path, the crunching sound permeating the air. His focus lay elsewhere, however, eyes fixed on the proud house. 

A few months after Stiles and Scott had begun their adventures at college, Derek had taken it upon himself to begin a renovation project. He’d said it was a ‘spur of the moment’ decision, but - judging by the number of housing magazines he’d seemed to pull out of nowhere - Stiles reckoned he’d been thinking about it for a while.

Blood, sweat and tears had gone into the project - he knew that firsthand. Another thing he’d learnt was the simple fact that a nervy man-child has no business operating power tools. 

Shuddering at the memory of his wrestle with a chainsaw ( _ thank God  _ Derek had acted fast enough to intervene before Stiles found himself the victim of lasting injuries _ ),  _ he tried to focus on the positives. There was now a layer of new, unscorched wood that wrapped around the perimeter of the house, giving it an earthy feel. Several polished windows looked out across the sprawling forest, serving both for aesthetic purposes and to provide look-out points over the trees. 

The steps felt firm beneath his feet as Stiles climbed them lightly, pushing open the front door without a knock. He’d learnt long enough ago that that particular human custom wasn’t necessary around wolves - they knew when he was approaching from a mile away. 

“Derek? Where are you?” Stiles called out, fingers playing with the zipper of his jacket. Given the scale of the house, Stiles should have yelled. He  _ would  _ have, as well, if not for the wolfy hearing. 

The interior of the house was just as impressive as the outside - if not even more. When he’d rebuilt it, Derek had added a few extra rooms to accommodate the pack which that meant there were now many, many bedrooms scattered around the house. Derek had assigned Stiles the room closest to himself (an action he’d tried - and failed - to prevent himself from over analysing) and they’d spent a few days decorating it together. 

“Kitchen.” Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed together at the darkness embedded across Derek’s tone. It’d been a while since he’d heard such a seriousness in his voice.

Slipping off his shoes, he sank into the fluffy carpet as he sped-walk towards his favourite room of the house. 

Out of everything they’d achieved - Stiles was proudest of the kitchen. It’d taken them  _ so long  _ to complete the room, everyone wanting different things from the area.

Stiles supposed that it might look messy to a stranger, but to him it was perfect.

Little touches of personality crept passed the gleaming countertops and fluorescent light bulbs. Large, paw-print magnets were scattered across the doors of the fridge, proudly pressing an assortment of photos and certificates to the metal. A hook stuck out from the side an end-cabinet, an assortment of colourful scarves draped over the wood ( _ why  _ Isaac demanded they be in the kitchen, he still didn’t understand). A solemn bowl of fruit lay in the centre of the breakfast bar, surrounded by a scattering of lacrosse magazines.

_ Organised chaos _ , he liked to think of it as. Everything had a place. 

However, when he stepped into the kitchen his eyes didn’t fall on those features. Instead, he found himself peering at the package sat on top of the lengthy kitchen table.

Well...that might’ve been a lie. 

Stiles would’ve liked to claim that his full focus settled on this parcel, but that simply wouldn’t have been true. His eyes first swept the strong figure of his Alpha, tracing the lines so familiar it felt as though they’d been branded into his skull.

The both of them had been spending more time together, as of late. Stiles often found himself over at Derek’s during the days of his finals, the older man proving to be an effective study tool with his whole  _ do-what-I-say-or-I’ll-hurt-you  _ facade working to motivate him into revising. The studying sessions had soon morphed into casual drop-bys, occasional movie nights and afternoon runs. 

Stiles was happy he finally got to spend time with Derek without the residual tension carrying over from high school. Given they hadn’t always gotten on, the friendliness expressed by his new friend was definitely appreciated.

If Derek felt any different, he hadn’t made it known. 

“What is that?” Stiles fell to a halt about half a metre to the right of Derek, the man giving him a slight nod to indicate he’d noted his arrival.

“I don’t know.” 

“Well,” Stiles sighed, rubbing his hands together, “that’s extremely  _ un _ helpful.” He didn’t have to look at Derek’s face to know he rolled his eyes. 

“It turned up on my doorstep a few minutes before I texted you. I thought I should wait for backup before I opened it. Something about it feels...off.” He scratched his jaw, the sound causing Stiles to shift his weight from foot to foot.

“Off?”

“It smells weird.” Derek continued when Stiles shot him a glare. “Rather, it doesn’t have a scent. It’s like someone’s washed it completely clean so there’s no way I can identify what’s inside.” 

Stiles tossed his jacket over the back of one of the chairs and knelt by the table, looking the package side-on. “That’s weird,” he noted, squinting. “It doesn’t look harmful, but you never really know. Did you message anyone else?”

“Just you.” Stiles fought down the blush that threatened to spill across his cheeks.

_ Harmful  _ would be the last word Stiles would’ve normally used to describe the package. 

Wrapped with a crisp silver bow, the pale pink box suggested nothing but unfaltering safety. It was the kind of thing he’d use to wrap up Lydia’s birthday present - if she didn’t routinely make of point of instructing him  _ not  _ to buy her  _ any _ gifts  _ at all _ .

It didn’t look like a trap. Of course, it would be impossible to tell until they opened it. 

“What does the label say?” His attention focused on a silver note attached to the side of the gift, the flap hanging over the side of the box. He was already reaching for it when Derek answered.

“Just read it.”

Stiles did.

**To Alpha Hale - we hope our gift brings you many happy nights! ;)**

“Many happy nights?” Stiles returns to his previous action of repeating words until they worked their way through his skull, hoping that the longer he absorbed them, the more it’d make sense. 

“Weird, right?” Derek huffed, crossing his arms. Stiles glanced up and took note of the disgruntled expression that wove across his face. Feeling an unexpected spike in his heart rate, he quickly averted his gaze. 

“ _ Very _ weird,” he agreed, keeping close control over the waver in his voice. “Do you have any idea who sent this? Any at all?”

Derek shook his head, seeming frustrated. “I was showering when it arrived, didn’t notice it was here until the messenger was long gone.” 

A silence draped the room, Stiles’ mind whirring at a thousand miles an hour. He made a quick list of pros and cons to act as a way to placate the rational part of his brain, despite the fact that he’d decided what he was going to do minutes prior. 

“We should open it,” he announced, standing back. “Actually,  _ I’ll _ open it. You should stand outside in case it’s full of wolfsbane or something.”

“I’m going to stay here,” Derek defied, standing firmly on the ground. Stiles rolled his eyes, tilting his head to the side.

“Really, big guy? What if it’s a nasty present?” He quipped. 

“If it’s a  _ ‘nasty’  _ present,” Stiles hated to admit that his heart jumped at the way Derek spat out the word, “I’ll be more useful than you. I can heal, you can’t. There’s a simple solution:  _ I  _ open it and  _ you  _ stand back.”

Stiles reached out to press his hand against the top of Derek’s arm, still surprised when he didn’t back away. It’d been a slow journey - that of Derek’s through therapy - but he no longer cringed away whenever someone touched him. Stiles was grateful for this for a number of reasons, one of the mains ones being the fact that he’d quickly discovered Derek made an  _ awesome  _ pillow to rest his head against during Pack Night.

“Derek, you know I value your Alpha insight above everything else, but you’re wrong. This was addressed for you and if it’s harmful it’s meant to harm  _ you _ , not me. I’m going to open this and you’re going to stand over there.” To punctuate his words, Stiles gestured to a spot beyond the breakfast bar. “You’re also going to get one of those shitty tea towels and wrap it around your face in case this thing spews poison.”

Better safe than sorry, he reckoned. 

“If Erica knew you just called her tea towels ‘shitty’, she’d rip your throat out,” Derek responded dryly. Nevertheless, he shrugged off Stiles’ arm and walked to the far side of the counter, picking up a hideous polka dotted towel and wrapping it over his face. 

“Good job she’ll never find out,” he answered firmly. Stiles forced himself to block out the sound of Derek’s throaty laugh, instead focusing all of his attention on the pastel present. “I’m going in.” 

“Don’t die.” Derek’s words provided little comfort.

He slid his hands around the present, nimble fingers picking at the bow until it fell loose. Stiles pushed the ribbon to the side and curled his fingertips against the edge of the box, cautiously prying the lid off. Working slowly, he put it onto the table before leaning over and staring at the contents.

“What is it?” Stiles didn’t reply, eyes fixed firmly on the inside of the box. “Stiles?” 

“It’s, uh,” he broke off, glancing up to give Derek a look that said  _ I-have-no-fucking-clue-so-give-me-a-second-to-figure-this-out. _

The inside of the box was covered in a thick layer of powder, its colour mirroring that of a dark midnight ink. Flecks of something sparkly mixed with the blue, creating the impression that the product - whatever it was - was extremely valuable.

“Oh! There’s another note,” he announced, noticing another silver card. He reached down and plucked it from the powder, a few grains sticking to his fingertips.

**An Alpha without a mate is weak. This should help you sort that out. You have five minutes before it kicks in.**

He relayed the message to Derek who, having seemed to deem it safe enough to approach, walked forwards curiously. When he was across the table from Stiles, he peered into the box to take a look for himself. 

Stiles wished he could’ve missed the way Derek’s expression collapsed into one of absolute terror.

“This isn’t good.” Derek’s voice mirrored the look on his face - equal parts nerves, anger and fright. “This is  _ really  _ bad.” 

“Care to elaborate, Mr. Doomsday?” Stiles knew the nerves had carried into his own voice.

“It’s...It’s hard to explain and we don’t have much time,” Derek glanced back at the clock hanging on the wall, “but it’s love powder.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Derek, we don’t live in Harry Potter-” he was cut off by a low growl.

“Shut up and listen.” Stiles closed his mouth. “It’s an odourless mix of plants, mainly moonshine and mimosa púdica,” his brain tripped to follow the fast pace of his Alpha’s hurried words, “the result can be toxic.” 

“Can be?"

Derek sighed, teeth biting his bottom lip. He crossed his arms for the second time, biceps bulging against the tight grey sleeves of his shirt. “It creates the overwhelming desire to...have intercourse. If it doesn’t occur, the body shuts down and you die - wolves  _ and  _ humans.”

Stiles swallowed, throat completely dry. 

“To- to have  _ what _ ?!” Derek gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Sex, Stiles. You heard me the first time.” His words carried no heat, instead an edge of something suspiciously similar to pity. 

“We haven’t inhaled it though, so we aren’t infected, right? We’ll be fine?”

“It’s extremely volatile. I can feel it now. It’s spread across the entire room.” Derek spoke in short, low grunting sentences, irritation practically steaming from his ears. “We’re infected.”   


“We’re infected,” Stiles parroted, voice jumping a nervous octave. 

“It’ll be worse for you; you’re human so it’ll hit you heavier than me. I’m so sorry, Stiles.” 

Stiles decided it was a good time to sit down. 

Fingers rubbed at his temples, trying to alleviate some of the building pressure. “By overwhelming desire, you mean what, exactly? Don’t sugarcoat it, I want to know.” 

Derek hesitated, slipping into the seat opposite Stiles’. The younger boy blinked, surprised, when he reached across and took one of his hands. Derek gave it a small squeeze, warmth coursing across their conjoined palms in a comforting manner.

“I only know what I’ve heard from lore, but it’ll be pretty bad. Some said it was like a burn, others a roaring beast. It’ll only end when both of us have climaxed.” Stiles got the feeling Derek was omitting something, so shot him an urgent look. “There needs to be, uh,” a rosy blush pinched the apples of Derek’s cheeks, “full penetration.” 

_ Sex powder. Possibly toxic. Overwhelming desire. Full penetration. _

Stiles wished he’d stayed with Scott. 

“Holy shit,” he stated simply. Derek hummed in agreement. 

Stiles waited a few moments before launching into his battle plan, knowing it’d be his final opportunity to enjoy some peace. During this, he traced the curve of Derek’s face with his eyes and found comfort in the soft lines of his skin. He knew Derek noticed - a part of him thought Derek  _ always  _ noticed - but the man didn’t say anything, just kept holding Stiles’ clammy hand.

“We need to dispose of this before we go crazy, or whatever. If anyone comes home and it’s still out, they’ll catch it as well.” In spite of the grim situation, Derek’s lips curved into a smile when Stiles spoke the word  _ ‘home’ _ . “We should put it in a safe until we can get it to Deaton.” 

Derek hummed, springing to action quickly. Stiles decided to let him deal with it, knowing he’d work at a pace considerably faster to his own.

Stiles watched as he stuffed the lid around the box and quickly lifted the package, disappearing from the kitchen a few moments later. He returned after a minute, washing his hands in the sink. 

Stiles scratched at his wrist, feeling an unfamiliar heat pressing up against his skin. 

“We need to talk about this, Der,” he mumbled, finally getting up from the table. He walked around the breakfast bar to rest against it, Derek doing similar against the sterile kitchen counter until they were facing one another. Despite their relative closeness, it felt as though they’d never been further apart.

“I know, Stiles,” he huffed, reaching up to itch at his neck. “I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea to invite you.”  _ Ouch _ .

“Dude, if you’d opened a mysterious package without me there I’d have killed you.” Derek raised his eyebrows and Stiles backtracked. “Okay, fine - I  _ wouldn’t  _ have killed you. I’d have wanted to, though -  _ very _ painfully. You don’t leave me out of these things, you know that.”   
  
“Still-” Derek dropped his speech, shoulders tensing firmly. He took a moment to recompose himself, eyes screwing shut. “We don’t have enough time to argue about this, it’s about to start.” Stiles nodded in agreement, feeling  _ something  _ beginning to grow inside the pit of his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, I’m the one that decided to open it. If anyone’s at fault, it’s me.” Stiles rubbed at his temples, acutely aware of the slow burn that was beginning to spread across the length of his body. 

“No,” Derek fought, “whoever sent this to me is to blame. After everything, we’ll hunt them down.” He turned his head to the side, gazing blankly at a wall. “It’s not supposed to happen like this.” Derek’s mumbled words - although just that: a mumble - reached Stiles through the growing cloud settling around his head.

“It?” He questioned. He was going to leave the questions at that, but an unforeseen  boldness struck against his chest. “You want to have  _ ‘intercourse’ _ with me?” Stiles  knew the cocky smirk spread over his lips wasn’t flattering, but honestly couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t act like you don’t, Stilinski. You’ve reeked of arousal for the past five weeks. I know you want me… want your  _ Alpha _ .” Red swam around his eyes and Stiles felt his hot, hot blood rush straight towards his cock.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, heart hammering against his ribs. “I want you, Derek. I want you so badly. It’s not just the powder, either. You’re right - I’ve wanted you for  _ weeks _ . So, it’s okay. It’s okay to fuck me, use me, do whatever you need to do to get us there. I want it.” Stiles broke off, whimpering. “I need it.”

Derek’s voice was nothing short of a grunt. “I need it too.” 

He thought he’d already been hit with the full force of the powder. Thought the general heat spreading over his skin, coupled with the uncontrollable shaking and burning desire to reach out and claim Derek - claim  _ his  _ Alpha - was it.

He was wrong.

When it began, he sure as Hell knew. 

A weakness numbed his knees, causing him to lunge forward and grasp at Derek. Strong arms wrapped around his waist, holding him securely against the firm body of the warm man. He buried his face against the muscular chest, inhaling the intoxicating scent of  _ Derek _ . 

A haze settled around his mind, quieting some of the more violent thoughts and replacing them with encouraging words. He wanted to stay there -  _ right there  _ \- forever, ear pressed up against the beating heart of his Alpha. And he would have, quite willingly, if not for the few overpowering calls that begged him to keep going; tickled at his side whilst instructing him to tug off all of his clothes and expose himself for Derek, expose himself for his Alpha.

It was the heat, however, that was the biggest cause for alarm. Everywhere burned - his arms, his face, his legs - but nowhere as brightly or as prominently as the fire that spread through the pit of his stomach, calling out for something,  _ anything _ , to ease the scratch. It was painful. So, so painful. 

He couldn’t think straightly, or think at all for that matter. Rational thought slipped from his mind easily, his only objective now being one thing:  _ Derek. _

If he had any space in his lust-clouded brain, Stiles would’ve thanked the continuous stream of one-night stands he’d picked up during his time at college. It was with the knowledge he’d gathered whilst spending time with them that his body knew what to do.

“D’rek,” he mumbled, hands grasping at the front of Derek’s t-shirt. His fingers curled around the material, dragging the man impossibly closer. “ _ Touch me _ ,” he hissed, heart beating a thousand miles a second. 

Derek complied immediately, needing no words of encouragement. His fingers splayed over Stiles’ side - giving him a small squeeze - before pushing him back a few steps. Before Stiles could whine too loudly, Derek ripped open the front of his shirt.

The roughened pads of his thumbs pressed up against Stiles’ flushed nipples the second his shirt, now shredded -  _ thanks Derek  _ \- was on the floor. The harsh rubbing of flesh against flesh was enough to have Stiles quivering, breaths leaving his lungs in hurried gasps. 

“So responsive,” he cooed, drawing another deep, guttural groan from Stiles’ chest. Derek took his tongue between his teeth, meeting eager brown eyes when he swiped it across his bottom lip, the action causing Stiles’ cock to twitch against his boxers.

“Pl-please,” Stiles stammered. Derek continued to swipe his firm fingers across his nipples, the buds pink and perked. His eyes were glowing, the deep red colour being the only tell of his supernatural powers.

“What d’you want?” Derek spoke lowly, voice holding the resounding sound of powerful dominance. 

Stiles tugged against Derek’s shirt, trying to pull it over his head but failing when strong arms reached to push his hands away. “Tell me,” he growled, sending shockwaves straight down his spine. 

Gulping, Stiles tried to string together the words to form a coherent sentence. He found it a little difficult due to the unfaltering stimulation of his throbbing nipples and the screaming internal voice that ached for  _ moremoremore!  _ “Derek,  _ please _ give me m-more,” he begged, voice cracking, “your mouth. I want your mouth on me,  _ shit _ , I want your mouth everywhere. And your hands too, holding me down as you fuck me into the mattress with your cock,” he gasped, tears prickling his eyes, “Alpha  _ please  _ give me your cock.”

Still blubbering, Stiles didn’t realise he’d said enough until Derek was grabbing his arm and pulling him out of the room - steely grip causing tendrils of fire to curl around his skin as the longing grew worse. Through tearful eyes, he let himself be led into the first bedroom they stumbled across. 

The room just so happened to be Isaac’s.

Neither of them cared.

“You smell so hot,” Derek grumbled, letting go of his arm. “I can feel how much you want me, can practically see the outline of your dripping cock through your trousers. Get naked and lie on the bed.” A small part of Stiles commended Derek for managing to maintain that level of composure. His request actually  _ made sense _ .

Trembling, he worked his fingers over his belt and winced at the steep temperature gradient between the cool buckle and flush of his skin. He kicked at the material, clumsily pushing it aside before glancing down and seeing a patch of wetness stained dark against his Star Wars boxers. Wait,  _ Star Wars- _

“You take too long.” He looked up just in time to see a  _ very naked  _ Derek Hale striding towards him. His jaw fell slack when fingers slipped beneath the waistband and jerked them down his legs, his freed cock slapping up against his stomach in a way that sent a thrill of heat shooting down his spine. 

Derek stuffed his head in the crook of his neck, lips pressing against the skin as he left a few open-mouthed kisses across the marked canvas. Stiles felt his hands inch across his skin, pressing against the curve of his back, travelling lower, lower,  _ lower _ .

“Der-  _ Alpha _ , please,” he gasped, releasing a high-pitched squeal when hands cupped his ass. Stiles tossed his head to the side, Derek’s face immediately moving to press against his exposed jugular, and if he were in his right state of mind he would’ve known that that was a bold move.

“So soft,” Derek marvelled, a blush blooming over Stiles’ face. Fingers pulled his cheeks apart, the sensations from the cool room’s air prompting him to jump and dig his fingers into Derek’s side. “I can’t wait to completely destroy you.” Lust dripping from his words, Derek pushed Stiles back onto the bed, turning him so he was positioned with his face against the soft duvet, ass elevated in the air. 

Stiles bit his bottom lip, impatient to no end. With every passing second the fire seemed to grow, so painfully hot that he could barely stay still. Derek could be heard walking around the room, clearly searching for something. “'S probably in the bedside drawer,” Stiles said, voice a broken whimper. He didn’t understand how Derek was remaining so levelheaded given the situation.

A single, finger - nail pointed to a sharp end - trailed up his hip, goosebumps spreading across every inch of exposed skin as Stiles bucked up towards the contact. Judging by the ragged claw, maybe Derek wasn’t as unaffected as he’d assumed.

The sound of lube squirting from a bottle captured his attention just as Stiles was about to reach down and give his untouched cock a little stroke. The digit reappeared - thankfully clawless - and pressed up against his begging hole.

The moment the finger applied a slight pressure, Stiles cried out and ground his hips back to rock against the tip. Of course the touch felt  _ good  _ but it wasn’t enough - it was nowhere near enough. 

“Stay still.” Derek’s words were more like a demand, his position shifting so as to weigh down Stiles’ lower legs. “And be patient,” he added when Stiles released a sound that sounded somewhere between a groan and a plead.

“C-Can’t, Alpha, I need it, I need it so-so badly. It  _ burns,  _ D’rek, it’s too hot, please!” At some point, tears began to well up, covering his whiskey eyes in a gentle film of wetness. Stiles blinked, knuckles clenching into white fists as a single, fat tear rolled down his cheek.

The finger circling his tight muscle finally,  _ finally _ pushed inside - only by a measly centimeter, but it was enough to have Stiles releasing a sob of relief. Derek’s finger felt so  _ hot,  _ and fit so snugly inside him that he had the brief flitting thought that he could orgasm right there and then, dick completely ignored. 

Derek’s free hand worked to keep his flushed cheeks spread apart, the ends of his fingers pressing soft, soothing patterns into the flesh. “So tight,” he commented, and Stiles could feel the gaze fixed on the finger as it slid further inside. 

Despite the lube, the burn that spread through him was still present. Stiles didn’t care, however. He simply rutted his hips back, forcing the finger deeper within his greedy hole and sighed contentedly at the pain.

It pulled out before pushing in again, the discomfort lessening as Derek worked out a steady rhythm. Wet sounds filled the room, his lips parted and blabbering nonsense about  _ harder  _ and  _ faster  _ and  _ oh God, Derek _ .

Soon a second finger slotted alongside the first, Stiles feeling so full he could burst. Derek murmured a few words of what Stiles assumed he thought to be reassuring, but in actuality they came out rather differently.

“Yeah? You like that?” Derek twisted his fingers, Stiles’ moan jumping an octave, “like the way my fingers feel inside you? Alpha fingers? Oh, you dirty thing. Taking them so well but still begging for something bigger, begging for my cock. You’ll get it soon enough. As much as I’d  _ love  _ to slam right into your tight little hole and watch your face contort as I worked you, I’m enjoying this way too much to stop.” Stiles whimpered when a third finger slipped inside. “Judging by those sounds, you’re enjoying this too. Right? Being a nice little slut for your Alpha?”

_ Slut _ . Stiles flushed bright red, his cock leaking rounded beads of salty precum at the word. He’d never expected Derek to be such a talker in the bedroom. The grunts and the roughness? Yes. The shameless filth he spoke? Not so much. 

It was a massive turn on.

Once the three digits fit comfortably inside his heat, Derek worked on stretching him out. Every single movement was calculated and Stiles found himself quickly opening up. The tips of Derek’s fingers scraped along his walls mercilessly, poking at every spot and crevice apart from the one place he desired. For minutes his prostate went ignored, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as the desire to be  _ touched  _ escalated uncontrollably.

When he began clenching around the slick fingers, Derek snaked his free hand around his waist. Stiles didn’t notice at first, too absorbed with the presence of  _ Derek  _ inside his body to be aware of much else.

“Holy shit!” Stiles exclaimed, gasping for air. Derek’s hand had just wrapped around his cock, thumb skimming the tip of the head.

Derek hummed in acknowledgment, beginning to spread a mix of precum and leftover lube over Stiles’ enlarged length. He worked impatiently, movements clumsy but making Stiles squeal nonetheless.

“Such a good boy.” Stiles released a sound that sounded like a choked scream.

For the following couple of minutes, Derek continued to massage Stiles’ cock with his hand, fingers driving deep inside his ass. He avoided his prostate, but made up for that omission by taking care in the way he stroked at the various veins that ran the length of his member.

Stiles was crying. He was vaguely aware of the fact, not because he could feel the tears, or was purposefully turning on the waterworks, but rather because the trickle of salty water was dribbling pitifully into his mouth. It didn’t hurt, Derek’s actions, but it still wasn’t enough. His body ached for more, no- his body  _ screamed  _ for more.

“Alpha, I-”

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Derek made a strangled noise, loosening his grip on Stiles’ cock and pulling his fingers from his ass. He fell to the bed, his hand wrapping around his cock as a snarl ripped from his throat.

Stiles knew Derek had felt it. The way he was furiously pumping his incredibly large length, vein practically popping from his forehead was a dead giveaway. Stiles would’ve craned his neck further and spent a few additional moments studying the man, but he had other issues.

The powder - the spell, the heat,  _ whatever  _ \- had just kicked it up a notch. Stiles felt his legs fall limp as he face planted the bed, tears being absorbed by the soft sheets. He rolled to his side, own hand gripping his cock and tugging it viciously. 

The heat bubbling in the pit of his stomach had increased by tenfold, his previous compulsion seeming only a whim. Desire unlike anything he’d ever experienced before pounded through his bloodstream, mind spinning uncontrollably.

His jaw fell slack as his fingers worked his cock in the most satisfying way. Derek had been teasing him; only gracing him with light brushes and weak squeezes. He’d wanted to string out the moment whereas, for Stiles, there was nothing more important that milking out an orgasm. 

Moans and whimpers wove together with his hiccuping cries, sounds mixing together in a way that grabbed Derek’s attention. With his back now flat on the bed, Stiles watched as his Alpha tensed and turned to stare at him, eyes glowing.

“Spread your legs. I need you right now,” he ordered, voice hitching. Stiles’ eyes followed Derek’s hands as they played with his own, long dick, and a thrum of arousal spread across his nerves like wildfire. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Stiles cried, knowing he was so, so close to getting it. “Hurry, Alpha, please. Please, please, please. I need it, y-your cock.” Tears continued to flow down his cheeks, emphasising the scale of his desire. 

Hands pushed up against his legs, pressing his milky thighs further apart. He watched through half-lidded eyes as Derek took his lubed cock between his fingers and aligned it with Stiles’ puckering hole. 

“Fuck.” Derek’s word echoed in Stiles’ ears. The man jutted his hips forwards, propelling his cock inside his wet heat. One hand went to hold Stiles’ side, the other circling his rim in a successful attempt at loosening the muscle.

Sobbing, Stiles was aware of his lips moving. He knew he was probably uttering something unintelligible, but he couldn’t hear anything over the throb of his heartbeat ringing in his ears. He could see Derek’s mouth opening and closing, forming something that looked suspiciously like encouragement but everything felt blurred - dimmed by a film of pleasure.

Similarly to the way he manoeuvred his fingers, Derek started with a few slow pumps before building up a quick tempo. Stiles was lost until Derek changed up the angle so the tip of his cock brushed up against his prostate and-  _ oh God. _

“Holy shit!” He screamed, vision blurring brightly. His hips jerked off the bad, Derek’s clawed hands failing to keep him in place. He’s sure he would’ve normally felt some degree of embarrassment to be in pieces, but he was lost in such an intense pit of pleasure that he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but euphoria. 

“ _ Stiles _ ,” Derek got out, lips twisting around the word. Hair stuck to his clammy forehead, the image of ‘tense’ printed across his face as it seemed as though every muscle was pulled tight; taut to the point of breaking. “I c-can’t.” 

Stiles didn’t know what he was referring to because with the pace Derek was maintaining, he most certainly  _ was _ . Every thrust drove his cock deeper, tickled his prostate with the levels of pleasure he’d never known to exist. A hand was on his length, tugging it with a renowned energy that sent his toes curling and back arching.

“Harder,” he gritted out, teeth pressing together. Derek obliged, grabbing one of Stiles’ knees and pushing it up against his chest. With the limb tucked up, he was able to settle in closer and slam deeper, slam  _ harder _ . 

Stiles began to shake, every inch of his skin crawling with the fire that’d been plaguing him for what felt like eternity. The closer he edged towards orgasm, the more desperate he felt. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he clenched around Derek’s cock.

“Alpha,  _ Alpha _ I’m s’close,” he warned, voice completely wrecked from the noises he’d been procuring. Normally he’d let go without warning his partner, but he felt a tugging urge to let Derek know. 

“Hold it,” he barked in answer, jaw pulled tight. Stiles groaned, partly from frustration and partly a result of Derek squeezing his cock particularly harshly. “One more minute. Want us to come together.” At the mention of  _ together _ , a surprising warmth spread across his chest.

“Hurry up, hurry up-  _ please _ . I can’t hold it, I really, really can’t do it, Derek.” Stiles spoke, words bumpy. He felt fingers dig into his sides, the sharp edges of the claws only aiding him to feel even more aroused - though there was no way that could be possible.

Derek’s hips faltered, a low groan leaving his pink lips. “Do it. You can come now, Stiles.  _ Do it _ . Come for me, squeezing around Alpha’s cock.  _ Now. _ ” 

Gasping, Stiles felt his orgasm rip out of him. It approached like a freight train and hit his entire body as if he’d just ran into a brick wall. His head fell to the side, body twisting painfully as an unimaginable pleasure ricocheted across every nerve. He knew mouth was open and releasing animalistic sounds, but he found it impossible to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of  _ Derek’s _ cock moving inside him and the way  _ Derek’s _ hand pumped out lengths of desperate come from his dick and  _ Derek’s  _ sounds of utmost bliss as he came inside Stiles, warm seed painting his insides.

It went on for seconds, the moment lasting a bittersweet mix of long enough and  _ nowhere-near-enough _ . When it finally began to taper off, Derek slowed his thrusts and carefully pulled his entire length from Stiles, mumbling quiet apologies as the younger boy winced. It felt empty without him inside; Stiles didn’t think he liked the feeling.

He tried to concentrate on steadying his breathing, the rapid rise of his chest beginning to alarm him. As he practiced a few breathing exercises, he was dimly aware of Derek falling onto the mattress and tossing an arm around his shoulders. Subconsciously, he moved closer to the man and found himself snuggling into his side.

Derek’s fingers found his hair, playing with the ends as he spoke low, comforting words to coax him back. 

It took a while, but eventually Stiles found himself blinking blearily, emerging from the cloudy headspace that’d enveloped his mind for so long. 

The first thing he noticed was how  _ tired  _ he felt - not the normal, post-busy-day tired, but rather the sort of exhaustion one would expect to experience after running a marathon. Everything ached; every muscle, nerve and bone throbbed with the hollow aftershocks of exertion. 

The second thing he noticed was how  _ warm  _ Derek’s chest felt. His face was pressed up against it and, despite the obvious firmness, it was a very comfortable position. Heat - a safe temperature - emitted off from his skin in a way that put Stiles instantly at ease. He knew he could fall asleep in that position, and wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

The third thing he noticed was the warmth inside  _ his _ chest. As cliché as it sounded, it was almost as though there was a piece slotted into place that hadn’t been there before. He felt oddly complete; as if he’d finally gained a part of him that he’d never realised he’d been missing.

“Are you okay?” Derek spoke softly, voice lacking the dominating strike it’d held a few minutes prior. Instead, it was full of care (and maybe a touch of concern). 

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbled, voice scratchy. He cleared his throat. “Are we done?” 

Derek rubbed his fingers over the top of Stiles’ forearm, alerting him to the limb draped around his shoulders. “I think so. I don’t feel it anymore, do you?” 

“No, not at all.” As  _ amazing  _ as it’d felt to finally climax, Stiles was grateful it was over. “I’m glad.” 

Derek stiffened. “Stiles, I am  _ so, so sorry. _ Are you actually alright? I can’t smell anything but-” He was cut off by Stiles making a shushing sound.

“I’m fine, Sourwolf. Are  _ you  _ okay?” 

It was the truth: Stiles  _ was _ okay. Yes, the powder had pushed him to do something he hadn't planned - but the feelings had been there beforehand. He  _ liked _ Derek. Liked his personality, liked his body and- to be honest, liked the way they'd fucked. So, he  _ was _ okay. He didn’t blame Derek any more than he suspected Derek blamed him.

“Yeah. Tired, but okay.” 

Stiles hummed, eyelids falling shut. He felt Derek grab a blanket and drape it over them and curled further into his chest. “I don’t regret it. I know it was a terrible, terrible way to spend our first time - but I’m glad it was you.” Derek let out a laugh at Stiles’ admission. 

“I agree. I’m just pissed,” Derek squeezed Stiles’ arms and leaned over to press a hasty kiss into his hairline. “I wanted to take you on  _ at least  _ a date before we did that.” 

Stiles quirked an eyebrow. “You want to date me?” He knew he probably reeked of giddiness, and could feel an uncontrollable smile spreading over his mouth. 

Derek sighed, familiar with his questions. “I do, have been for weeks now. We’ve been growing closer, you know that. I had a date all planned out, I was intending on asking you after we’d dealt with the gift but,” he broke off into a laugh and gestured at their entwined bodies, “this happened.”

“Do it,” Stiles said, suddenly sounding alert. “Ask me. Right now.” 

He felt Derek’s breath against his temple, the warmth sending a pleasant thrum through his body. 

“Stiles Stilinski,”  _ oh God, it’s happening _ , “would you do the honour of accompanying me on a date? After we’ve slept off the magic-induced sex fest, of course.” 

Stiles laughed, nodding his head sleepily. “I’d love to, Der.” He didn’t have to look to know Derek had a smile spread across his face.

“Get some sleep, Stiles. I’ll be here in the morning.” Derek stifled a yawn, mirroring the level of exhaustion Stiles was inwardly feeling.

“G’night, Derek.” 

The situation was fucked up - Stiles knew that. He expected they’d discuss it in the morning and predicted the conversation - though necessary - would be awkward and embarrassing. However, he also knew it’d be worth it.

As he drifted off to sleep, curled against Derek’s side, he felt content. The pack didn’t need to know; none of them needed to know what it’d been that drove the both of them together. 

It wasn’t until the morning that he realised that logic was slightly flawed.

“Hey, Derek, you know I love you but I don’t think sleeping in my room,” Isaac spoke, pushing open his bedroom door, “is appropriate-”

Stiles woke to the sound of a startled scream. “ _WHY ARE YOU NAKED IN MY BED?!_ ”

Stiles turned over and pretended to be asleep. 

Derek could deal with that one.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked my attempt at the sex pollen trope! I haven't written anything like this before, so I really hope it turned out well. Kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


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